


with love’s light wings

by Carmarthen



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Magic Realism, Multi, Polyamory, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No one noticed the one man who left the city gates on foot, following a flock of starlings winging towards Mantua.</i>
</p><p>A sequel of sorts to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/948810">sail upon the bosom of the air</a>: a few things that might have happened next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with love’s light wings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [sail upon the bosom of the air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/948810) by [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen). 



> Thanks to drcalvin and madame-le-maire for betaing!

### I.

Tybalt says no.

He leaves Verona with his back unmarred by the buds of wings; his rage broken and his body still bound. His heart—who can say? The road does not end in Mantua, and Tybalt does not tarry there.

Mercutio finds him in Firenze, on the cusp of winter. _You are the last, my beloved enemy,_ he says, _I owe you a pair of wings._

And perhaps, perhaps, this time Tybalt says yes.

In the morning, a woodpecker's speckled black and white wings, still furled and downy, have begun to spread from Mercutio's shoulders. Tybalt touches his hair, strokes a finger down one fluffy wing-bud. _You are certainly loud enough,_ he says, _especially in sight of a wood._ He looks at Mercutio, naked, and colors faintly, looking almost like the youth he is; the novelty of a smile on Tybalt Capulet’s lips strikes Mercutio momentarily silent. It is a poor smile and a poorer joke, but, Mercutio thinks with some charity, Tybalt is not in practice at either. 

_Hush,_ he says, but he can find no venom, and he cannot stop himself from smiling back. His growing wings itch, and he is not in Verona.

Perhaps this happens.

### II.

Romeo's great-uncle left him a little villa outside Mantua; it sits atop a hill covered with grapevines, stretching in neat rows. Crows pick between the plants for worms and heat haze shimmers over the red earth.

Julia's belly is already round with child under her blue gown, and her lark wings fold behind her in a proud sweep like a queen's train. She smiles at Mercutio and clasps his hands, thanking him for her freedom.

Romeo says nothing, but that night after dinner he takes Mercutio's hands, draws him to the bedroom, and blows out the lamp. His wings are as soft as thistledown against Mercutio's cheek.

He still cannot fly, but the longing no longer aches in him as it did when he was still trapped by Verona's walls; here in Mantua the sky is open, as open as Julia's smile.

### III.

The first time Tybalt takes him above the streets of Modenna, it is in anger. _Will you stop moping if I show you?_ he hisses, dragging Mercutio stumbling outside. He crushes Mercutio against his chest and leaps, the rush of wind as his wings unfold stealing Mercutio's breath until they are already in the air and rising. The noise of the tavern below them dies away; all he can hear is the beating of wings as they fly up, up towards the stars. The city stretches out beneath them, a patchwork of tile roofs and lamplight and silver cobblestones.

He should be frightened, as he was never frightened of Tybalt's blade, his bluster that so rarely turned truly dangerous: all Tybalt has to do now is open his arms and Mercutio will fall. The Tybalt he had known in Verona would have let him fall.

But this Tybalt clings to him with an iron grip, face set with effort and fingers digging bruises into Mercutio's shoulders, the muscles of his arms hard as stone around him. _Are you happy now,_ Tybalt grits out, his chest heaving with effort.

And Mercutio tips back his head and laughs, ignoring Tybalt’s glare; they are free of Verona at last, both of them.

### IV.

Tybalt arrives during a thunderstorm, his feathers as bedraggled as those of a tern drenched at sea. He shivers in Julia's library, ruining the Persian carpet and shedding broken gray and white feathers on her couch.

He will not speak of what happened, but he drinks the bitter cocoa Julia offers without complaint and submits to their preening with sullen acquiescence. He only shudders a little when Romeo's oil-slick hands smooth the long flight-feathers into order.

 _Stay as long as you like, cousin,_ Julia tells him, her fingers lingering warm and soft against his. _We have room enough._

He believes her.

### V.

One thing is certain, as certain as the starlings flocking in the grain-stubble: it is August, and the winds blow from Verona to the sea. A man with hair like flame and a song on his lips is walking towards Mantua, and tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure this works as well as the first story, but...so it goes, I guess.


End file.
